“Fucking shit,” I whispered to myself, panic filling up my stomach, making me nauseous instantly. Instantly.
For one microsecond, I asked myself how I could fix this without involving anyone. But just as quickly as I wondered that, I reminded myself that there was no way. What was I going to do? Hide the car and do everything all over again? The primer alone needed a day to dry.
I wasn’t sure I believed in miracles, and I wasn’t about to start now.
My hands went up to my hair on their own, smoothing over the chin-length hair I had bobby-pinned back behind my ears to keep it out of my face. I tugged on the ends, hard. But the color didn’t change and the words on the work order didn’t magically disappear, and I was still in deep shit.
There was only one thing I could do.
Suck it up, sugar tits, my sister would say.
What if you get fired? My brain tried to ask the rest of me.
I had messed up once before, but it had been wheels I had screwed up, and only two of them.
I rarely called out. I was never late. I couldn’t remember ever complaining. Sure, Mr. Cooper was the closest thing I’d ever had to what a real dad was supposed to be like. But this was going to be hundreds of dollars’ worth of work that was going to need to be redone because of me. That money being mostly what they paid me hourly for labor and the paint I’d just wasted. All because I hadn’t taken the time to find both orders and look at the stupid freaking dates.
I was going to be sick.
What if I got fired? It could happen. It was a white day for Rip.
And he’d fired people for less on white days.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
There’s only one thing to do, Luna, the voice of reason in my head told me.
Letting go of my hair, I took a deep breath that wasn’t deep at all and sounded more like I had asthma. I wasn’t going to be even more of an asshole and pretend like nothing had happened.
I had messed up.
I took ownership of my actions.
I didn’t run away from my problems, even if I sometimes ignored them.
I was better than that. I was better than that. I wouldn’t be that person.
I might have prayed a couple of Hail Marys I had learned from the Coopers under my breath as I headed toward the main floor. I considered calling Mr. Cooper to tell him because I didn’t think he was capable of yelling at me.
I couldn’t though.
It was a white day, and Rip had already blatantly ignored him. He’d be at home by now, and Mr. Cooper didn’t deserve to get chewed out for something I did, because that would be what inevitably happened if I used him as a buffer between me and the person who had actually given me the orders for the project I had screwed up.
I tried to tell myself that there was nothing to be worried about. What was Rip going to do? Yell at me? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had done it. I’d mastered getting yelled at as a kid. It wasn’t like he would hit me or call me stupid or hint that my entire existence was a mistake. He would make a face, use that condescending tone he used on everyone regularly, maybe he’d be grumpy for a few days, and then…
He’d decide to fire me.
No big deal.
I could find another job. I had job offers pop up every few months. Sure, none of them were in Houston, and sure I didn’t want to change jobs and start over again around people who didn’t know me and didn’t care about me, but….
Don’t you dare get upset, Luna, my brain warned me. Don’t you even think about it.
I took another deep breath, but it went in jagged and crooked. I’d own up to my mistakes, I had sworn to myself a long time ago. I’d take responsibility for my actions.
Don’t overreact, I told myself as I placed one foot in front of the other, heading to the main floor of the shop and looking around at the eight different cars parked inside at the moment. There were four “lanes.” Each lane had two cars on it. Three lanes were usually reserved for cars that were getting mechanical work done, usually a car involved in a collision. One lane was always set aside for whatever car or cars Ripley happened to be restoring.
Sure enough, most of the mechanics for CCC had left for the day, but I still spotted two heads on the floor that weren’t Rip’s brown and silver mix.
At the lane furthest from where I stood, I could see him taking the seats out of a GTO that I hadn’t seen before lunch.
Why? Why had I screwed up today? Crap, crap, crap.
I had done it. There was no hiding it. I couldn’t go back in time and change my mistake, as much as I would have wanted to.
Own it. I had to own it. Lying was bad—most of the time. Pretending to be stupid was worse.
I repeated all those things to myself as I crossed between the cars, purposely ignoring the glances I got from the two guys still working as I made my way toward Rip. It wasn’t unusual for me to come out on the floor, but it wasn’t that normal either.
Maybe I could get him to talk to me in his office or in my room.
How could I have screwed up like this? Realistically, I knew that people made mistakes. The man who had taught me everything he knew had messed up all the time.
Okay, it had never happened while Rip had been at CCC, and it had never been a mistake of this size. When the old lead painter had messed up, it was picking out the wrong color tone or not noticing that something had needed an extra coat of clear. It wasn’t a chunk of a car being the wrong color.
You will not cry, Luna. You will not cry. He’s not going to hit you, and if he yells at you, you can take it better than anyone else here. If you get fired, it’s your own fault. You can’t blame anyone else but yourself. You’ll be fine. Thea, Kyra, and Lily are almost all self-supportive. One day you’ll be able to laugh about the day you screwed up big-time. It might just take a decade to get there. You’re a decent person and you try to do what’s right, even if it sucks.
It was with that thought that I marched my butt toward the man who had ducked back into the car. I couldn’t see his head or his body as I got closer. I could handle it, I promised myself.
Then I made it.
Rip was taking the bolts off the driver side seat like I had expected, so I walked around to that side and stood there, watching him on his knees, half of his upper body inside the car, the other half kneeling on a dirty towel on the concrete floor.
He didn’t see or hear me.
Knowing him, he might just be pretending he didn’t.
So I said, loud, “Hey, Rip.” He was going to know something was wrong, I just knew it.
He didn’t stop working, and if he rolled his eyes, I had no idea, but I caught his reply of “What?”
What? Not what do you want or what do you need. It was a white day. What did I expect?
“Can I talk to you?”
“Talk,” was his simple reply.
I could do it.
“Can we talk in the office or in my room?” I practically croaked, wincing and hoping he’d miss it.
Only then did I see his arm stop moving, but I heard his voice clearly as he rasped, “Busy, Luna. What’s up?”
What’s up? Okay. That was a decent sign.
But I still couldn’t manage to say anything more than, “Did I tell you that your hair looks nice today?” The way he had it parted did look extra nice today. I wasn’t lying.
Just stalling.
“Talk, Luna,” he clearly grumbled, aware I was full of it. “I don’t got all day. I need to get this car stripped. What’s up?” my boss, the same boss I had been planning on baking a cake for this weekend, the same boss who had already lost this patience with me when I didn’t give him an answer at seven in the morning when he asked what favor I wanted from him, and then again when he’d caught me with my eyes closed during a meeting, asked, not giving me a second to think of what I could say to get out of this.